Like a Good Neighbor
by connorfemway
Summary: Some things are worth the extra effort. Fem!Connor


This story, unlike many of my others, is NOT a reply to an ask (connorfemway on tumblr), but a story I've been wanting to write for a while that's in the same universe.

While some proofreading was done by myself, I didn't have my trusty beta reader look it over since he's not home, so it might have more mistakes than usual. I apologize in advance if you come across any.

Enjoy.

* * *

"It will not be long. I know you are so busy Connor, I appreciate what you do for us. Always so kind!"

The Assassin shrugs her shoulders backwards, the bag heavy upon her back. Once she is sure she has the weight handled she holds out her arms for the final parting gift - a wriggling bundle wrapped in bear's skin.

"I am sure he will not be too much to handle. He always seems to enjoy his time with you, after all," Prudence leans over the bundle, pressing a kiss to the bright-eyed baby's forehead. "But are you sure this is what you'd like? I can always leave him with Ellen if you've other business that needs attending to."

"It is no problem," Connor adjusts the bundle in her arms, stroking a thumb over the tuft of curly black hair upon the baby's head. "I shall take good care of him while you are away."

"Many thanks, Connor," Warren appears from within their home, "I've given Maria some money so that she'll watch the house and tend the animals. I am sure Hunter will be a handful enough for you, on top of the things you do for the old man."

The Assassin shrugs her shoulders, "It is only a few days. I am sure I will manage."

"If you are sure," Prudence smiles brightly before her husband helps her up into the back of Achilles' horse-drawn wagon. "Give him our thanks for his kindness."

"I will."

Mother and father say goodbyes to their son once more before Warren presses a straw hat down upon his head and steps up into the driver's seat, taking up the reigns to the two horses. Prudence sits within the carriage, produce stacked all about her. Connor waves to them as they make their way down the road, towards Boston, where they might sell their large harvest.

"Is he not the cutest thing you ever did see?" Maria has appeared from within the home, tucking something unseen into her pocket before she steps up beside Connor, stroking a finger over the baby's brow. "He will grow up to look like Prudence, I just know it. Boys who look like their mothers are always the most handsome."

The Assassin chuckles, shaking her head. Was there any truth to that statement? None that she could see, but Maria was one of those girls who you didn't argue with for fear of crushing their esteem.

"Will you take him up to the manor?" she asks, removing her hand from the boy and stepping back a step. She twists her feet in the dirt, young eyes gleaming in the light.

"Yes. I have work to do there," the Assassin sighs to this, "I have been gone only a month and already the manor is in disarray."

"I wish you good luck. If you need help with Hunter, you know where to find me," with a nod of both their heads, Maria returns to the front steps of Prudence and Warren's home. Connor turns her attention to the road and begins to walk, adjusting the babbling child in her arms once again. His tiny hands reach out to touch her face, tug on her side braid, and she allows it with contentment.

"Be mindful of where you tread. I fear we've a leak somewhere, and it's rotted out the floor," Achilles calls from the rickety steps that lead into the basement. Connor has removed the large bag from her back, producing a few simple toys for Hunter to play with. He sits in the corner upon a thick blanket, wooden rattle lodged in his mouth. His large, brown eyes follow Connor as she removes the outer layer of her Assassin's garb, leaving her in only her plan button-up shirt. Carefully she rolls up the sleeves, every now and again glancing back at Hunter who sits in the same place where he was left.

"When will the wood arrive?" she asks, turning her attention to the rotting floor as Achilles makes his way carefully down the steps.

"Godfrey and Terry are supposed to be en route," Achilles' tone speaks of the inevitable - the two were never prompt and took forever with their errands. "It will be a while yet before we see them. Just focus on ripping up the flooring for now."

"You mean what is left of it," Connor shakes her head, gazing about. Most of the flooring in here was dirt, with pieces of stray wood flooring here and there. Achilles only scoffs, heaving himself to sit down on the steps beside where Hunter occupies the floor. The baby has found sitting boring and has opted to lie on his side, every so often rolling to his other side. Most of the time he seems to get stuck on his belly, in which Achilles helps the boy along the rest of the way, gently, with the end of his cane.

"When will the farmers return?" he asks as Connor brandishes a crowbar from a tool chest beneath the stairs.

"Three days," she says, but Achilles doesn't seem convinced.

"That's rather optimistic for the plentiful harvest they've had. I predict at least a week."

"I do not mind. I have missed the homestead." Connor offers a small smile to her mentor, moving over to the rotting wood floor, but remembering she forgot the hammer she turns back to the box. "And Hunter is well behaved."

"Surprisingly."

As the Assassin works, she makes certain to keep an eye on both Hunter and Achilles who seems to have nothing better to do today than to sit near the baby. A nostalgic air has taken up the room and Connor does not doubt that the boy reminds him of his own son. Besides the occasional nagging and directing of how Connor should do her job (which is always present, even if Connor is doing excellent work), Achilles is silent.

Hunter babbles in the background, tossing around his rattle. The dog normally kept outside to watch the stables has made his way inside through the open doors, and rests close to the baby, licking at the boy's round cheeks. The giggles that fill the air fill Connor with an optimistic sense of self. There was nothing like home.

The floor is ripped up in easy time, but what Connor finds beneath is nothing short of unpleasant.

"The state of this manor makes me sick," she mutters, having stepped back a few steps when an explosion of beetles erupts from beneath one of the removed boards.

"It is quite possibly older than I am," Achilles chuckles, and opens his mouth to speak again but is interrupted by Hunter's sudden eruption of crying. Connor turns to look at the boy, shaking off some of the bugs from her legs.

"Not a fan of bugs, I suppose," Achilles chimes in yet again, chuckling deep in his chest. They come out a little wheezy, but it is laughter nonetheless. Connor sets her tools down upon the table, over which the pictures of the Templars, including her father, hang. The overworked Assassin moves over to the boy, hoisting him up beneath the arms. She settles the boy against her chest, holding him beneath his bottom. She gives him a good sniff and is glad to find that the boy does not stink.

At this same moment a knock echoes from the door upstairs. Both pairs of adult eyes look up. The dog that has rested peacefully until just moments ago begins to bark, trekking up the stairs with determination.

"For once they are on time," Achilles grumbles, and Connor offers an arm to help him to his feet. He hobbles up the steps with the help of his cane. The Assassin, in the meantime, rummages through the bag provided by Prudence. From within she pulls a paper out, then trots up the steps, lightly bouncing the crying boy in her arms.

"Dr. Lyle, I was not expecting you," Achilles waves the dog back from the open door where the doctor stands, looking a bit ruffled at the appearance of the mutt (who normally wasn't allowed within the house).

"I am sorry to intrude-" he peers into the house and meets Connor's eyes, but a moment later she's disappeared around the corner into the kitchen area, crying baby being shushed gently. "-but there has been an incident down the hill. Myriam's come across more poachers."

"Again? Damned fools."

"Norris was the first to find them, and has been hurt. Myriam shot one, but the rest escaped. I've hardly the time nor the capacity to go after them..."

The Assassin listens from within the kitchen, allowing a sigh to pass her lips. It was obvious what was needed.

Connor reappears in the hallway, handing the crying boy and the paper off to a sour-faced Achilles.

"That is the way to prepare the food for him, it should stop his crying. I shall return with haste. Have Godfrey and Terry bring the wood into the basement if they can manage," the Assassin presses a kiss to the crying boy's cheek before she snatches her tomahawk, bow, and quiver up from the small table near the door. "Lead me there, I will handle the situation."

"They have fled. Can you track them?" the doctor treks down the steps to the house with Connor right behind him. The dog follows at Connor's heel, panting and trotting through the dirt, eager to be out of reach of the baby's wails.

It is within the forest that Connor finds Myriam, stamping the butt of her gun in the dirt with frustration. She seems unusually upset today - Connor can only think that it is because of Norris' injury. The two were growing very close as of late.

"How serious is his injury?" is the first thing Connor asks, causing Myriam to nearly jump out of her skin. She whips around, and relief finds her tensed features.

"It is not all that serious. I believe Norris simply plays it up," she offers a nervous chuckle, then turns her eyes out to the forest, "I chased them to here and then lost them. Your tracking skills are far superior to mine."

Connor steps past Myriam, and the woman has her eyes on the dog who follows before she herself follows the Assassin.

They move through the brush together, words exchanged in low tones.

"How does Hunter behave?" Myriam seems all too curious about the boy lately, and Connor does not blame her. He was the hot topic for the women of the homestead, Myriam included.

"He behaves well, but cries loudly. He has strong lungs," the Assassin twirls her tomahawk in her hand, stroking the other hand along a tree. Her fingers find the impression of bullet holes within it.

"Children are such curious things," Myriam says this with some degree of distaste, to Connor's surprise.

"What do you suggest?" the Assassin offers half a smile, amused.

"They are... hard to deal with. I do not understand why Prudence was so desperate to have a child," the huntress scratches at the back of her neck, using her long musket as a sort of walking stick as they trek through the green and rocky terrain, "Already she has dark circles beneath her eyes. I couldn't imagine tending crop and animals and then a child."

"Some things that are hard to deal with are worth it," Connor nods with assurance. She knew all about that. Now was the perfect example of such - this Homestead was like her blood, sweat, and tears combined into one permeable, tangible entity. The heart she put into this Homestead was worth it though.

"I won't deny the truth you speak," Myriam's eyes move all about the area, and she carries herself with the finesse of a hunter who has roamed these lands far too many times, "But I still wonder... do you aspire to have a family one day, Connor?"

"I do," the Assassin nods, "But I do not focus on it now. I am far too busy to tend to the needs of a husband and children."

"I might beg to differ," Myriam prods Connor with the butt of her musket, "It seems as though you are married to the Homestead, and that those of us who come and go are your children."

"By that logic, I am wife to many husbands, and have far too many children. I would prefer not to think of my allegiances in such a way." Connor shakes her head. The Homestead, the Brotherhood, the Patriots. The Assassin had her plate full.

Before their conversation can continue, Connor raises a hand to point into the distance where some figures rest near a stream. The two women nod to each other before they part ways - Myriam into the underbrush and Connor into the treetops.

When Connor returns to the manor with the dog and Myriam in tow, wiping fresh blood from her tomahawk onto an old and browned cloth, she is greeted at the road with Hunter's persisting tears. The door stands ajar and a wagon stands outside, timber loaded up in the back.

"'Ell, iunno a thing about babes," Godfrey holds Hunter up under the arms in front of him, observing the boy with curiosity. At the appearance of Connor in the doorway, the man seems all too eager to hand the baby over. The Assassin sighs, resting the boy against her chest.

"What of the poachers?" Achilles sits in his chair, tapping the bottom of his cane upon the floor.

"Taken care of," Myriam rubs at her own temples, looking as though she just got hit by a minuature hurricane walking through the door.

Connor turns her gaze on the old man, "Did you not feed him as I asked?"

"I made up the food and he would not eat," Achilles shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly, as though trying to prevent a headache.

"Where is Terry?" she asks Godfrey, who buck-snorts in reply.

"The lobcock said he was goin' ta empty the tank. 'Aven't seen 'im since."

"Myriam, could you-"

"Leave it to me," Myriam looks relieved at the ask, and moves quickly out the door in search of the second lumberer.

Connor peaks into the baby's diaper and finds nothing. Instead of trying to food again, she sits upon a chair in the room Achilles' occupies, humming a song to the boy and rocking him in her arms.

"Begin loading the timber downstairs," Achilles mutters to Godfrey, who nods and moves outside as quietly as he can manage.

By the time Myriam and Terry return, Hunter lies sound asleep against Connor's chest, tiny hands gripping the cloth of her shirt tightly.

"So, he was tired then?" Myriam whispers, looking relieved.

"Who was tired? I ain't ti-" Terry steps through the door, voice loud as it normally is, but is hushed by several simultaneous shushes.

"Yer like a sack o' bricks," Godfrey mutters as he grabs his friend by the arm, "They want it downstairs. Make sure ta be quiet so we dun wake the babe."

"Oh, Connor," Myriam goes to leave but stops in the doorway, head hanging inside, "I saw Ellen while I was out fetching Terry. She wants to know when you can come by - she said she needed you to try on some clothing she is working on."

"If you see her, tell her I will come by sometime tomorrow," Connor whispers, running her fingers over the baby's soft hair. Myriam nods once before she takes her leave, side-stepping the men who struggle to carry in stacks of the cut timber.

"If you drop that, I swear by all that is good that I will have your heads," Achilles warns, eyes set on the baby in his trainee's arms.

"Got it," Godfrey puffs, moving backwards down the steps into the basement. Terry struggles along at the back end, back straight and arms even straighter as they disappear downstairs.

"Perhaps I should help," Connor mutters to Achilles, but the old man shakes his head.

"He would wake up," the man nods to the boy's firm grip on the Assassin, "Since that's what we want to avoid, you should stay still."

It was obvious the old man had had enough of the boy's crying for one day. Unlike Connor, who seemed to carry the patience of a god, Achilles had a short fuse.

The two men appear again and disappear just as quickly, mumbling about all the bugs they'd stepped on. Before they come back, another knock falls upon the door.

"Quietly enter," Achilles growls, tapping his cane upon the floor.

This time it is Maria who appears in the doorway, looking nervous.

"Connor, I tried to stop it, but it was just-" the girl's voice is already rapid, but Achilles seems pleased that she's at least keeping quiet. The Assassin leans forward in her chair a bit.

"Maria, calm down. What is the problem?"

"One of the hogs is loose. I can't get it to go back... It's run all the way up the hill to Mr. Walston's house! I asked him to help catch it but..."

"Big Dave, catchin' a hog? Ha!" Godfrey buck-snorts once again, "Tha' man runnin'? Tha day tha' 'appens is the day it rains muney."

"I 'ope 'e learns to run then. I could reely use tha' money." Terry chortles as they make their way downstairs, grunting and heaving with the weight of the wood.

Connor sighs deeply, standing from the chair. Gently she pries the baby's hands from her clothing, and before the baby can stir he is handed off to Maria. Hunter wiggles restlessly, but she holds him tightly.

"I'll be back," the exasperated native woman exits the manor for the second time today.

"The damn beast tore right through my garden," Ellen growls indignantly, Connor following along after her, Big Dave heading up the rear of the trio. The woman stops at the edge of the forest where her property stops. She points a long finger out. "It went that way."

"Thank you, Ellen," Connor nods to her, "I will come by tomorrow once things have settled down to try those clothes."

The woman nods to the Assassin, then to Dave who appears thoroughly disgruntled by this task that has been pushed upon him.

"I don't understand why it would run so far," they track the pig together, Connor rubbing at her tired eyes, "They normally don't go farther than the yard."

"Something must have scared it," the afternoon sun is hanging above their heads, and it casts darker shadows. The shadow of the hog appears, and before either of them can appropriately react it dashes out of sight. Too frustrated to try to sneak up on the hog or even bother to use caution, Connor dashes after it. Big Dave tries his best to keep up, but the failure is imminent.

By the time the hog has been rounded up and hauled back into its pen, night is setting in over the homestead. A mud-caked Connor trudges her way back up the road to the manor, legs and arms sore from the exertion. Terry and Godfrey have gone, taken their cart with them. At the door Maria passes off the baby to the native. He is now wide awake, brown eyes wide and a bit of food smeared on his lip. It is wiped away by one of the Assassin's thumbs.

"Keep a close eye out," Connor says in nearly a monotone, still heaving deep breaths, "Something made it panic."

"Understood. Thank you so much, Connor," Maria nods, then brushes past her out the door.

The Assassin removes her boots at the entranceway, and makes her way up the stairs to the room she occupies. Hunter, wide-eyed and quiet, is set upon the bed as Connor changes into an older set of pants and shirt. The mud-caked garments are tossed out onto the balcony at the side of the house, to be washed at a better time.

Achilles leans over the fire in the kitchen and is joined by his trainee once she has finished changing not only herself but the baby, whose cloth diaper was full.

"Parenting is a glorious thing, is it not?" Achilles chuckles in his sarcastic manner as Connor curls up in one of the larger chairs, the baby suckling bits of the mashed food Connor puts on her fingers.

"I feel as though I have been a parent for a long time," she mutters, remembering the conversation with Myriam earlier. If only she'd had a conversation with Dave to make the pig-wrestling a little easier.

"At least you will have experience, if you ever decide to have your own family. It is messy business," Achilles stirs the soup in the pot above the fire, turning over some meats above that.

"I will keep that in mind," Connor rests her forehead against Hunter's, letting her eyes fall closed for the meantime.

Dinner comes and goes. Connor remembers the crib the baby needs, and treks through the dark back to Prudence and Warren's home with Hunter in tow. Maria is curled up asleep in a chair, a book resting across her knees. Connor tosses a blanket over the teenage girl before she steps upstairs to retrieve the little wooden crib for the baby.

As they return to the manor, Connor speaks to the boy, shows him how to move his mouth. It was unusual, many had said, that the boy still could not talk despite being several months old. Connor thought nothing of it - each child learned at their own pace, after all.

The crib is set next to Connor's bed, and the baby is set in it. The Assassin strips of unnecessary clothing and props open a window, letting the cool night air into the hot room. It is the midst of summer.

The Assassin lies on the edge of her bed, fingers extended for the boy to hold in his tiny hands. She hums softly, even bothers to sing some songs she remembers from her own childhood to him.

It is a peaceful night, a good ending to a hectic day. Hunter's eyes flutter closed and his hands release her fingers. She covers him up with the soft blankets, runs her fingers over his face then settles into bed.

It will be good rest, she knows. A day of exertion always leads to the best sleep.

Outside, a dull 'thunk' echoes from somewhere, followed by the voices of Godfrey, Terry, and a few other men who tread down the road towards the pub at the inn. The Assassin lets a sleepy smile pass over her face before she relaxes into the grip of her bed.

Despite all the troubles, it was good to be home.


End file.
